


Gog and Magog Unchained

by Cornerofmadness



Series: Perceptions of the Fifth Sun [1]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 01:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17458211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: Angel tries to recover from the ‘final battle’





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Perceptions of the Fifth Sun Series Number one
> 
> Disclaimer - So not mine. All rights belong to Mr. Whedon et al
> 
> Time Line - Immediately post NFA
> 
>  
> 
> Author’s Note One– This was written @ 2004-2005 (I’m not sure. It’s surprisingly not posted on FFN which is what I used back then) for the 10th spin of the Lyric Wheel Challenge. The germ of the series came from a drabble I wrote for the Open On Sunday Community. It’s an idea that won’t leave me alone. Thanks to a2z mom for the lyrics, which are at the end of the story. Lines used will be bolded in the lyrics, not within the story. Thanks to SJ and A2Zmom for the beta 
> 
>  
> 
> Author’s Note Two - The series title refers to the Aztec [ Fifth Sun ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Five_Suns) , a time period yet to come, a time of great change and potentially bad at that. The Story title [ Gog and Magog ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gog_and_Magog) refers to ancient lands or people (it's hard to tease out as many legends have been conflated) that were 'unclean' and dangerous.

CHAPTER ONE 

 

 _Where’s the justice and where’s the sense?_ Angel kept asking himself this ever since it happened. Hidden inside an abandoned building waiting for the sunset, the vampire couldn’t shut out the cries from the streets around him. There had been too many of them. His team hadn’t had a prayer. Part of him was grateful when Gunn was finally cut down, ending his suffering. Angel should have sent him away, like he had his son but he knew, like Connor, Gunn would have only gotten a few blocks before turning around. His friend had gone out like he would have wanted, a hero. 

_What does it matter? You damned his soul_ Angel tried to drown out his dark thoughts. Wes and Gunn were dead. Fred died weeks before, and he had sold their souls to Wolfram and Hart. No, they had sold themselves willingly. They merely thought they were simply getting what Wolfram and Hart had to offer, never realizing the deal with Cyvus Vail was part and parcel of the transaction. He had sold them all into hell and could only kid himself that Wolfram and Hart was too broken to collect. His shanshu and his friends’ souls had bought what? Armageddon and a measly eleven months and a couple of weeks of peace for his son. Eleven months for Connor at the cost of his service to Wolfram and Hart, and eighteen months for Buffy bartered for the return of his humanity. When would he learn his plans would always go to shit? 

Still, Buffy was back…and ignoring him and Spike. No one answered their pleas for help. Apparently she had moved on, taking Faith and the others with her. Connor claimed the memories of Quor-Toth and the year before were like a vague dream. Angel knew his son was lying, telling him what he wanted to hear. Even if he had bought it, Connor showing up to help fight Hamilton was proof of the lie. Eleven months of sanity and love traded in for a bloody end. 

_He’s not dead. You didn’t see him die._ Angel clung to that, ignoring the little voice inside his head that jeered, of course Connor was dead. Angel had been standing right there when the mate to the dragon he had killed had scooped his son up, taking Connor from his side. He had heard his son’s scream of pain as the claws pierced him, felt the hot rain of his blood exciting his senses. _Should have drank the little bastard down when you had the chance._  
“Shut up,” Angel whispered feebly to himself, to the thing inside him that had reveled at the scent of Connor’s blood, the thing that remembered Connor’s taste and the effect it had on him. The subtle lust for his son’s blood sickened him. 

It was a moot point anyhow. The dragon had carried his son away to eat at its leisure. Connor was gone. The wicked part in him hoped that at least the scrawny brat hadn’t disappeared easily down the dragon’s gullet. 

Angel sprawled on the bare cement floor, wondering why he had sought shelter. What was there left to live for? Connor was gone. Most of his friends were dead, and those he thought were friends had betrayed him. He had never imagined Giles would have said no. Maybe he hadn’t explained strongly enough just how dire the situation was, how Armageddon was on hand. Maybe this was all his fault. Or maybe it was Buffy and Faith, the two people he trusted not to assume him working for Wolfram and Hart meant he was evil, who were at fault. If they had only talked to him, communicated with him, his ragtag band might have stood a chance with all the new Slayers at their side. 

Or maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference. Maybe all the Slayers would have died as well. There was still time for them to do just that. Demons hadn’t hung around just to battle him and his friends. They had spilled into the city, a diluvian outpouring of monsters. Angel had no doubts they would spread as far and fast through the world as they could. Nothing would ever be as it was. There were too many of them for the normal folks to keep rationalizing them. His demon cheered at the thought, and Angel was so tired, deep to the bone that he was tempted to just give in to him. 

Angel didn’t even know how the rift the Circle of Black Thorn had torn in the dimensions had been sealed. Just that suddenly with the wet popping noise of a compound fracture - the kind Angelus used to love to inflict - the rift shuttered, clipping a hoard of demons into halves. It didn’t happen fast enough. Too many monsters had slipped through. It would be hell on earth now. Again thoughts of why even take shelter from the sun flittered through his mind. 

Was Spike hiding from the sun? Angel had seen his almost-child being led away, bloody and limping, by Illyria. He didn’t stop them or cry out that he was alive, too, so to speak. He just let them go, too numb to move or speak. He didn’t want anything more to do with them, with anyone. He was done with humanity, and with demon-kind, too. He should have made that break years before. If he had just not gotten involved, maybe things wouldn’t have become this bad. 

_Who says the world’s ending? Looks like playtime to me._ Shuttering his heart against his own twisted mind, Angel curled up on the cold floor, giving in to the pain. He couldn’t count his wounds, the broken bones that had grated on one another as he limped like a car-struck dog into his hiding place. He had paused once or twice along the way to shame himself, sucking still warm, still liquid blood from the dead. He was a monster and not even a very good one. 

He needed more blood to heal completely but he’d be damned - more so than he already was - before he went and drank from more victims of Black Thorn’s slaughter. The mere thought repulsed him, reminded him of that time in Texas, another fall from grace. _And I’m falling now, fast and hard._

“Want out of here?” 

Angel sat bolt upright when the blue-haired woman just popped into view. It took a moment to realize she wasn’t a threat. He knew her vaguely through Lorne. He recognized her as the inter-dimensional expert who helped closed the rift Connor had torn from Quor-Toth to Earth. Angel thought he might know how Black Thorn’s rift had been closed. “Meerna, right?” 

“No time for chit-chat.” She winked into a corner. “Smart money is getting out of this dimension. Lorne though you might want out with us.” 

“So that’s it, he’s just running,” Angel said, too tired to be truly disgusted. It was probably the intelligent thing to do. 

“Just for the time being…maybe forever.” Meerna flashed back over to him and stayed put. She looked horribly exhausted. 

“Did you close the rift?” Angel didn’t know why he cared. 

“Me, some fellow dimensional experts, a few witches, lots died. More are just getting out while the getting’s good.” Meerna shoved out a hand. “Ready?” 

Angel gazed at her sadly. “Pass. I helped create this mess. I need to fix it.” 

She gave him a shocked look. “You hero types never make any sense.” She was gone before he could change his mind. 

_Just as well,_ he assured himself. At least Meerna and her compatriots had taken the time to close the rift before running away. They could have just as easily fled and let Earth be swamped by the demons. Maybe tomorrow it wouldn’t look like hell on earth. Angel would settle for purgatory and maybe, just maybe, he’d find a spark and work on chaining Gog and Magog back up. 

Angel stripped off the bloody tattered coat that still clung to his body, heavy with rainwater and bits of flesh, his and others. He wadded the reeking mass of fabric up and laid his head on it. He wasn’t sure which would win out, his frantic mind keeping him awake or his bone deep exhaustion. It was the latter. 

Angel woke, feeling someone familiar in the room. “Connor,” he whispered then remembered his son being carted off by the dragon. Familiar…and feminine, he thought becoming more awake. In the sun percolating through the broken glass of the windows, Angel saw her coming his way, trim, beautiful, golden hair curling to her shoulders. He knew that body, had lusted for it, knew every curve and dimple. The taste of it was heavy on his tongue, awakening old feelings much further south. 

“You have to get up, Angel. You have a lot of work to do.” 

“It’s daylight, Darla.” Angel shut his eyes. He was dreaming. Darla was gone for over two years now. 

“You know what I meant.” Her toe prodded him until he cracked open his eyes. “You can’t just lie here brooding. I know you want to.” 

He shut his eyes again. “Go away.” 

“I can’t, not until you see the world still needs a…” 

“Don’t you dare!” Angel sat up, stabbing a finger at her. “If one more person calls me a champion, I’ll tear off their heads…even if they are already dead.” 

Darla’s full lips parted in a wicked smile. “I was going to say selfless fool but it’s true. Your work isn’t done.” 

Angel snorted, getting to his feet. “You just hand me that same old refrain, the one Doyle used to sing. Cordelia, Wesley, even Buffy. Well, I’m tired, Darla. Look at what I helped do to this world! I tried to stop it. I signed away everything to circumvent this.” He waved a hand at the window and the world beyond, his fingers trailing smoke as they cut too close to a sunbeam. “Every time I try to help, I make things worse. Why should I dance to the Powers That Be’s music, when I get nothing in return?” 

“Nothing?” Her eyebrows raised “Not even that day that wasn’t?” 

“Oh yes, my great sacrifice for nothing, so that the woman I loved could have just a few more months of life, to come back…” Angel snapped off his thought, thinking on the things Spike had confided in him about how much Buffy had changed. She would have been better off dead, and she would have preferred it that way, if Spike were to be believed. “I’m not grateful to them for manipulating me like that. I gave them something for nothing. Their so-called gift was broken from the start. I can’t go on, Darla, not when the pain is all on my side of the fence. I did everything the Powers wanted, and they took everything from me. Doyle, Cordelia, my humanity for something they probably knew wouldn’t work…and now our son. He’s gone, Darla. A dragon took him. I tried so hard to keep him safe and now he’s dead.” 

“Is he?” Darla’s face lacked all expression, her eyes voluminous. 

He got lost in them. Did she know something he didn’t? Was she handing him false hope? “What do you know about him? Darla, is he alive?” Angel reached for her and she trickled through his fingers like smoke through a keyhole. 

Angel sat up, shaking from his dream. He looked around the old building but there were no signs of Darla. He lay back down against the hard cold cement that was putting an ache in his bones. It wasn’t a dream but a message from the Powers…only he couldn’t care less. He was done with them. He just wished they wouldn’t have gone for the extra added touch of Darla’s sweet scent. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO 

A handful of days had passed since Meerna and her compatriots had closed the rift, since his friends had died or dispersed to the four winds. In spite of his promise to not disgrace himself, Angel did it anyway. Oddly, he felt no remorse, and yet he was sure his soul was still anchored; he would never be perfectly happy again. Maybe it was the fact he wasn’t drinking from the corpses of victims anymore that eased his guilt even though it should have worsened it. He drank from other predators, the rapists and killers taking advantage of the chaos. 

There was something satisfying about killing the wicked. It wasn’t the look of gratitude and utter relief in those he rescued and ran before they saw what he really was. No, that wouldn’t be half as disturbing as the reality. He savored the fear in the predators’ eyes when they realized something worse than them had them under his power. It sweetened the blood, and he drank more than enough to heal. 

The surprising thing about it all was, the world didn’t just grind to a halt. Life slowly started turning again, wobbly perhaps, but it was going. Not surprising, bars were quick to reopen and do a booming business. Wearing his game face, Angel went into a demon bar he had known and tolerated in the time before Black Thorn. He managed to get a seat at the bar. 

All he wanted was to nurse a beer and brood over his losses because it was easier than taking action, any kind of action be it to track down the demons or to just go and greet the sun. He still didn’t know which he wanted more. The one thing he was almost instantly denied was peace to enjoy his beer. 

Something with horns and a costume that made the demon look like it had walked off a Star Wars set nudged him then nodded, horns slashing, at the TV. “Look at that. Now the world knows about the Slayers and us.” 

Angel turned his attention to the screen, Beamish stout poised at his lips. He almost snorted up beer seeing Lilah Morgan on the screen with the caption “Wolfram and Hart Representative – NYC Branch” across her body. She wore a sky blue scarf around her neck to hide the scar. 

“And you’re saying these…things, are the fault of an army of young girls, Ms. Morgan?” a skeptical news reporter asked. “It seems a little…fantastical.” 

“Were you there when a three headed beast ate Mayor Pataki?” Lilah shot back. “The Slayers are supposed to keep the demons at bay, and when they were called this time, they turned their back on their duty. This would never have happened if they had responded to the threat in Los Angeles.” 

“What is Lilah playing at?” Angel whispered. 

“It’s Wolfram and Hart, the less I know, the happier I am,” the horned demon replied.

“If you’re right, Ms. Morgan, why would this army of girls,” the anchor gave a deprecating laugh at that, “ignore such a massive threat?” 

“For that you’d have to ask their two generals, Buffy Summers and Faith Lehane. Wolfram and Hart has it on good authority that they, along with their commander-in-chief, Rupert Giles ignored a passionate plea for help from someone who knew well what would happen if they didn’t dispatch some Slayers to the rescue. They even denied the assistance of their chief witch, Willow Rosenberg.” 

“It didn’t happen like that,” Angel muttered. He knew what Lilah was doing. Humans could no longer ignore the demons among them so Wolfram and Hart was handing them a scapegoat on a silver platter. It meant two things, Wolfram and Hart still had plans for this world, and the Slayers were a threat. Tough as they were, Slayers could still be taken out by a vigilante mob with guns. Planting the idea that the Slayers were an armed force, with a traditional military set up, would guarantee people would meet them with weapons of their own 

Angel startled when willowy arms went around his shoulders and fangs nuzzled his neck. “Angelus!” 

He turned in her arms, staring at a dark-skinned beauty, even with the forehead ridges. He tried to place her face and French accent. He couldn’t remember her name but he thought she might be one of Dru’s children from the time he, Darla and Dru had wintered in the north of Africa. “Got the wrong vampire,” he said. 

“Oh, Angelus, like I could ever forget you.” She ran a hand over his chin. “Aren’t you excited about our brave new world?” 

His eyes flashed liquid amber. “I know if you don’t leave me alone you’ll never get to enjoy it. I’m not Angelus. He’s dead.” 

Her full lips pushed into an ill-tempered pout. “I’d heard you’d gone soft. Sad to see it’s true.” 

Whoever she was, she turned on heel and stalked off into the crowd. Angel shoved her from his mind and looked back at the debacle on the TV. Now Lilah was explaining something about demonic history while the inane reporter questioned her. Behind them scrolled pictures of Buffy, Faith, Willow, and Giles. Angel’s stomach twisted. He had done this. He had made the call to Giles from a Wolfram and Hart office. He had given them the ammunition to do this. If a vigilante mob got it into their heads to kill one of them, it was on his shoulders. 

He could have communicated better to Giles how much was at risk. He could have called Buffy or Faith himself but he didn’t. He had let his pride stop him. Angel wondered why he hadn’t been named along with them then realized Wolfram and Hart knew he, Spike and Illyria had been front and center for the battle. The firm hadn’t expected them to survive. There were advantages to that, should he want to take them. Oddly, he really didn’t. 

A scream from the television caught his attention. Angel glanced up to see the reporter getting eaten on screen by a Gedisfri demon and Lilah was mugging for the camera as if to say, ‘see? This is all _their_ fault.’ The screen went blank. Angel pushed the beer away, feeling it curdle in his stomach. He feared what had just been set in motion. Worse, he feared himself because he still didn’t feel like he should run to Buffy and Faith to save them. They hadn’t raced to his aid. Surely Giles would have told them he called. Angel suspected Buffy knew he and Spike had been in Rome. She didn’t want anything to do with them, not even bothering to let Angel know she had survived Sunnydale nor to talk to Spike after he came back. She was done with them and afraid for her or not, he was done not only with her, but with the world in general. 

“Don't tell me you're just going to sit there moping?” 

“I told you, you had the wrong vamp…” Angel twisted, realizing he recognized this voice, even before he saw her. She was still beautiful, svelte body, smoldering eyes and her gorgeous hair grown out of that disastrous bleached bob. “So, this is how it ends. I’m as insane as Drusilla.” 

Angel slid off the bar stool and stalked passed Cordelia. First he dreamt of Darla and now Cordelia. Either the Powers were taunting him or he was insane. He slipped out into the night air but he knew he hadn’t lost her. She moved with him like she was tethered to him. “I’m not going to have a conversation with a figment of my imagination. It’s one thing to do it when you’re dreaming but I’m not dreaming now. And you have no more sway over me than Darla did.” 

“I’m not even going to pretend I know what you’re talking about, Angel.” Cordelia swung out in front of him, putting a hand on his chest. She didn’t feel ghost-like. “You talked to me plenty that time I helped you with Lindsey, and I’m here to help you now.” 

He jerked away from her. “I thought you were real then. I didn’t know you had died.” 

“Did my passing into something different change the fact that Lindsey didn’t kill you that day?” Cordelia asked, stabbing her fists into her hips as she swung her mane of hair over her shoulders. “It’s not over yet, Angel. You’ve more work to do.” 

“Does it look like there’s more to do, Cordelia?” Angel raged, waving a hand at the ravaged street. “It is over. The world you knew is gone, changed for good. Wolfram and Hart brought about their end of days.” 

Cordelia scowled at him. “An ending is merely the start of something new, Angel. You still have a role to play. You need to get Connor…oh, that’s right you put him somewhere safe.” 

Angel laughed bitterly. “So safe, he’s dead.” He barely noted her stunned look. “This grindstone’s wearing me, Cordelia. I’m done. Tell the Powers That Be or whoever sent you, that it’s too much. I’ve lost too much. I lost you, Fred, Gunn, Wes and my son. The woman I loved wants to pretend I don’t exist, and the woman I saved from herself couldn’t spare the time to even come and see me. They thought I went evil, and they were content to just leave it at that. Either the Slayers went stupid and knowingly let Angelus free or they didn’t really believe I went evil and didn’t give a damn about me one way or the other. I couldn’t even make Giles listen to me and now it’s too late.” Angel couldn’t quell the quaking that took over him as his anger and remorse washed out of him. 

Cordelia’s hand grabbed his wrist hard. It was curious that there was no other sensation, no warmth, no coolness, nothing, it was as if she wasn’t really there. And of course, she really wasn’t, a ghost to haunt him. That was better than being totally insane. “It’s never too late. The world needs its champion now more than ever.” 

Yanking free, Angel snarled at the honorific. His fist smashed into the wall, leaving a trail of broken brick and blood. “Never call me that again. I’m done with being a champion. There’s too many spells to break, too many steps to take. Don’t use me endlessly, Cordelia. Your bosses want a champion, go find Spike. He’s into grand gestures, not me. Hell, he’s died once for this world. Go see if you can talk him into it.” Angel started to walk away. 

“And there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” Cordelia’s voice was laced with sadness. 

Angel whipped back around. “Sure, you can give me back my son or my friends. You could give me back the real you. Well, come on now, you all want something from me, it’s time to give a little back. This world’s taken everything from me, and I’ve had enough. Maybe I won’t walk into the sun tomorrow morning or maybe I will. It won’t matter either way. It’s time to undo what Whistler did by bringing me back into the world of the living.” 

“I can’t believe you’re just going to quit. This isn’t the Angel I knew and loved,” Cordelia said, shoving him. 

He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. “The Angel you knew didn’t send his friends to their deaths. He didn’t get splattered by his son’s blood as a dragon carried him away and enjoyed every hot salty drop of it, wishing he had gotten a better taste. The Angel you knew died with his friends in that alley. This is me, not Angel, not Angelus, not even Liam. I have an idea, why don’t you name me while I walk away from it all. Maybe you can think of a synonym for ‘I’ve lost everything’.” Angel shoved her back against the wall. 

“Are you so sure of that?” Cordelia snapped. “Have you even looked for your friends? Have you seen Connor’s body?” 

“Hard to see it when it’s inside a dragon. I saw Gunn die. Spike and Illyria…they’re better off without me. Spike and I….we were never friends. We’re family and that’s different. Trust me, Spike doesn’t need me. This world would have been better off if I had never graced it.” Angel started walking away. When Cordelia had no retort, he looked back to comment on her uncharacteristic silence but she was gone. She probably was never really there in the first place. Angel walked on. 

“Oh good, I caught up to you. You know Angelus, I shouldn’t give you another chance but you used to be so much fun it’s worth the risk.” 

Angel looked back at the female vampire whose name he couldn’t recall. He beckoned her forward and when she curled around his body, he plucked a stake from his pocket and dusted her before she knew what was happening. “Told you, Angelus is gone. Angel died in an alleyway. The more people who believe it the better.” 

He pocketed the stake and walked on. Darla and Cordelia, he had been visited by two ghosts. Would Wesley be the ghost of Christmas Future? Maybe it would be Connor taunting him with all the things he’d never be able to do now, like graduate college, find a lover, have more kids of his own. Angel tormented himself with dreams of lost grandchildren for a while then made a vow, no matter which ghost came to visit him next, the answer would be the same. He was done with fighting. The world had used him up. It would have to look elsewhere to find a savior. 

_**Walking on a Wire by Richard Thompson**_

_I hand you my ball and chain_  
**You just hand me that same old refrain**  
I'm walking on a wire,  
I'm walking on a wire  
**And I'm falling**

_I wish I could please you tonight_  
But my medicine just won't come right  
I'm walking on a wire,  
I'm walking on a wire  
And I'm falling 

__**Too many steps to take  
** Too many spells to break  
Too many nights awake  
And no one else  
**This grindstone's wearing me**  
Your claws are tearing me  
**Don't use me endlessly**  
It's too long, too long to myself 

__**Where's the justice and where's the sense?  
** When all the pain is on my side of the fence  
I'm walking on a wire,  
I'm walking on a wire  
And I'm falling 

_Too many steps to take_  
Too many spells to break Too many nights awake  
And no one else  
This grindstone's wearing me  
Your claws are tearing me  
Don't use me endlessly  
It's too long, it's too long to myself 

_It scares you when you don't know_  
Whichever way the wind might blow  
I'm walking on a wire,  
I'm walking on a wire  
And I'm falling  
I'm walking on a wire,  
I'm walking on a wire  
And I'm falling 


End file.
